


Stormfront

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post Advent Children, Praise Kink, Puppet Cloud Strife, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: When Sephiroth came to Cloud in any way, it was with the accompaniment of rain. Over the years, this made rain into a trigger for Cloud, who experiences debilitating flashbacks whenever it rains. Tifa couldn't help much, but maybe Sephiroth could fix it.





	Stormfront

               Cloud had had many nicknames in his life, good and bad. Whenever he threw a fit, his mother called him “Stormcloud.” When he was upset, he was “Raincloud.” The bullies in Nibelheim had liked to call him “Wisp.” Tifa called him “Puffball” when they were joking or she wanted to cheer him up. It all centered around his name.

               In an instance of gallows-humor, Cloud found it fitting that it was his full name that came back to haunt him. It was when the sky clouded over, low and dark and threatening to go nearly black with storm, that things always got to be the worst for him.

               At first he had thought it was coincidence. When he, Zack, and Sephiroth made that fateful trip to Nibelheim, it had been pouring the entire time. When he was traveling with AVALANCHE, every time he looked up while on his knees, head in his hands, it was to a dark sky. He could still remember the feeling of his uniform clinging to him from how soaked he was when he handed over the Black Materia. Every time they came face to face with Sephiroth, every time he heard his voice in his head, it was set to the background noise of rain pelting the ground. Though he hadn’t known it at the time, the entire time he spent nearly comatose in Mideel, it had been either overcast or raining.

               To this day, he didn’t know what the link was, only that at this point, there was no way it was coincidence. His only guess was that it had something to do with Jenova, but now that Sephiroth was (hopefully) gone, every scrap of Jenova gone, and Hojo dead, there was no one left to ask. All Cloud knew was that he dreamt of stormclouds and woke in a cold sweat.

               It had been a year since he had last faced Sephiroth, since he had been told he would “never be a memory,” and the menace was doing a damn good job fulfilling that promise. Edge was, thankfully, not that rainy a city, so he could get by. But still, after all this time, every time a storm rolled in he had to retreat to whatever bedroom he was staying in, or to the nearest shelter if he was on the road. The clouds began to grow thick and low and black and he fled, feeling a coward. But there was nothing to be done, no enemy to fight now, no way to escape his own head.

               Storms had become hell for Cloud. All it took was one clap of thunder to incapacitate him. When he saw the storm coming, he had the sense to go sit somewhere—usually huddled up under a blanket, knowing what was to come. He had fallen to his knees too many times during these fits not to learn. His knees would give, and he would clutch his head, just like old times. It came with a long-familiar ringing in his ears, so loud it was piercing and blocked out everything else. He didn’t dare to look, but he knew his eyes went that familiar green when it happened.

               He would sit there, frozen in place, staring blankly in front of him as a thousand things played out before him. Every fight, every loss, every scrap taken from him. All soundless, set to that white-noise-ringing. He would shiver and shake, break out in a cold sweat and pale. He would sit there, helpless, and wait.

               There was nothing to be done for it but to ride it out. He had tried, endlessly, to fight the stupor. He had gotten to the point where he could recognize when he was in it, even feel it coming on as the rain grew to from tinkling to pounding against the window panes. But try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to fight it.

               At first, no one knew. No one knew it was a thing at first. He had always managed to fight Sephiroth even with rain beating in his face—they didn’t know the dissociative sort of trance he went into while he did it, everything on auto-pilot and muscle memory. When he was collapsing, they had bigger things to worry about than the weather. Cloud had long since learned the connection, but didn’t want anyone to worry, so he kept his mouth shut.

               But, living with Tifa in Edge, he was on a timer. There was only so long before she would figure out what was happening. Every time the sky grew dark, he politely excused himself, saying he was going to go work on his sword, or take a nap. She didn’t think twice about it until she went in once while he was “fixing his sword” with a question about an upcoming delivery he had, only to find him huddled up against his headboard, fingers digging rivets into his knees, trembling like a leaf and staring blindly, green-eyed.  It was a waking nightmare for her, something she had hoped to never see again.

               Still, it was muscle memory for her to climb onto the bed next to him and pull him into her arms. She wasn’t quite sure what she said, but she whispered to him as he shook until the storm passed. The last of the thunder rumbled away into the distance and the rain faded out to a drizzle before he blinked and shook his head. The shivering stopped and he looked around, confused, before he looked up at Tifa. He was still pale, and his hair was sticking to his forehead with cold-sweat, but still he managed to blush. He pulled away, and Tifa let him, but something in her felt sick that he would be so embarrassed about this.

               “Are you okay?” she asked, knowing the answer but giving him a chance to get the lie out of his system.

               “I’m fine.”

               “You don’t look fine.”

               Cloud glanced up at her, then away. He said nothing.

               She spoke up again, saying, “What happened, Cloud?”

               He sighed and dropped his knees from where they were folded up by his chest down into a cross-legged position.

               “The storm.”

               “What about it?”

               “ _He_ always rode in with a storm. It’s hard to separate the two.”

               “Ah,” was all Tifa could say for a long time.

               Then she scooted closer to him and looked ahead of her, still quiet. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.

               After a long, long moment, Cloud sighed. He turned to press his forehead to her shoulder. She reached out and took his hand in hers.

               “I don’t know what to do, Tifa,” he whispered. “I can’t stop it.”

               “We’ll figure something out,” she promised. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

               And so, Tifa began joining him when it rained. He would make his way up to his room and settle in without making excuses to her anymore, and she would wrap up whatever had been going on before following. She usually put the kids to bed for a nap, despite protests that they were too old for those, as her last step before joining Cloud. She would hold him and they would ride out the storm until Cloud’s eyes were sky-blue again.

               They did that for a while, until the Marlene and Denzel started asking questions. They wanted to know why they always had to go to bed whenever it rained, and didn’t believe Tifa when she said both she and Cloud liked to nap during the rain. They protested enough that Tifa looked to Cloud, guilty. He shrugged. Later, he told her that he could get by without her, and that he wasn’t sure he could even tell she was there when he was like that anyway.

                (It was a lie. He could tell, and it helped.)

               So he went back to sitting in his storm-darkened room alone, living through flashbacks of the worst bits of his life on repeat.

               Until one rainy day, when it all changed.

               He was sitting on his bed, frozen and trembling, when his vision cleared. He blinked once, twice, three times and looked out the window just in time to see a flash of lighting. A violent shiver ran through him, but he could still see.

               That is, he could see that his window was open, letting the rain pour in.

               He furrowed his brow and looked at the forming puddle, watching it spread further and further into his room, until he caught the edge of it. Where it connected to a larger puddle. Which had a very familiar pair of boots standing in the middle of it.

               It felt like ice was dunked over his head.

               He gasped, but his breath caught in his chest like skin on a thorn.

               His eyes trailed up and up and up until he reached Sephiroth’s face, where there was a smile that bordered on fond.

               Sephiroth took a step forward and Cloud wanted to scramble. He wanted to flinch and cower back against the headboard. He wanted to find his sword. He wanted to launch out of bed with nothing but his fists at the ready.

               Instead, he found he was still frozen.

               He watched, unable to move, as Sephiroth stepped carefully around the bed. He leaned one knee it, Cloud watching mutely as it sank into the mattress. Sephiroth reached out with a gloved hand and tilted up Cloud’s chin, finger and thumb wrapped delicately around it. Cloud shuddered again at the feeling of rain-slick leather against his skin.

               “Poor puppet, does the rain still haunt you?”

               He waited, as if for a response, but Cloud couldn’t unglue his tongue from the room of his mouth. He just stared, green eyes impossibly wide as he looked up at a matching set.

               Sephiroth tilted his head to the side and hummed quietly, his hair spilling over like moonlight through rainclouds.

               He leaned forward and down, moving his hand to press it against the headboard. When he spoke, his lips brushed Cloud’s ear.

               “It will always haunt you. The rain means that I’m coming home. And I will do many things, Cloud, but I will never leave you.”

               And then the rain tapered off to faint pattering, and Cloud blinked, and Sephiroth was gone. He left one black feather on the mattress in his wake.

               Cloud stared at it silently, much as he had stared at the man himself. He stared and stared, right up until he heard Tifa’s footsteps coming up the stairs. Then he grabbed the feather and shoved it under the pillow, not sure even in that moment why he was doing it.

               When she opened the door, Cloud was already sliding off his bed.

               “How do you feel?” Tifa said out of habit, though she knew what his answer was (it was always the same).

               “I’m fine,” he said. “I just need to shower. I’ll be down in a bit.”

               Tifa watched him walk through the room to his dresser where he began rifling around for things. She finally noticed the open window and the wet floor.

               “Did you open your window in the storm?”

               Cloud looked over his shoulder at the water. A part of him was surprised it was still there. He quickly returned to what he was doing.

               “I’ll clean up the water.”

               He stopped talking, and it was clear he wasn’t going to continue. She sighed, she shrugged, and she left.

               When he came out of his shower, before he went downstairs, he stopped by the edge of his bed. He checked under the pillow. There was no feather there.

               Cloud never told Tifa about what happened. He chalked it up to a change in the pattern, just a hallucination, his mind playing tricks on him again. There was no way Sephiroth was back. If he was, he would be wreaking havoc. There was no way he _wouldn’t_ know if Sephiroth was back. At this point, he was sure he’d feel it in his very bones.

               But that didn’t stop it from happening again.

               The rain came again. Cloud huddled up in his room again. Sephiroth appeared again. The window was open, the puddles on his floor were back.

               Sephiroth approached slowly as he had before, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. The mattress dipped under his weight as he rested one knee in the center of it.

               “Why do you hide yourself away and sit like this in the storms? Are you waiting for me?”

               This time, Cloud managed to pry his mouth apart.

               Yet, “No,” was all he managed to choke out.

               Still, Sephiroth looked pleased with that much.

               “No, you’re sitting with the past, aren’t you? Reminiscing, if nostalgia could look haunted.”

               “I can’t help it,” he admitted, not sure why the truth was tumbling past his lips.

               Sephiroth reached out and cupped his face, Cloud flinching away from the touch. Wet leather, the feeling and smell of it crawling over him: another feature of his nightmares. Sephiroth didn’t waver with the reaction, instead drawing his thumb over Cloud’s cheek. Though he had flinched, he found he couldn’t move any more beyond that.

               “I suppose you can’t. But that’s alright. I always liked you helpless.”

               He leaned forward, using one arm to brace himself against the headboard, and tilted Cloud’s face up with the gentle guidance of his fingertips. He pressed his lips to Cloud’s, and Cloud flinched away so hard he smacked his head against the wood behind him. Still, Sephiroth followed, his mouth moving softly over Cloud’s. His hand slid against Cloud’s jaw, his grip tightening, the touch turning possessive. Cloud shivered roughly, overwhelmed with the smell of rain and leather and sword polish and a hint of something that was just _Sephiroth_ , and it stole his breath from him. He gasped as he shook and Sephiroth took the opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth. And Cloud, who had been tense as a bowstring, wound up beyond recognition and stiff to the point of being frozen in place, melted. Something in him yielded. His mind went blank. It wasn’t the loud, ringing white noise he was so familiar with. It was warm, and soft, and wrapped around his brain like cotton. It was familiar in its own right; it was the feeling he’d had when he’d handed over the Black Materia.

               He kissed Sephiroth, let him plunder his mouth and nip at his lips. Sephiroth’s hand trailed downward, his fingertips ghosting over his throat before splaying possessively over his heart. It could have been minutes or hours before he had to break away for breath, Sephiroth dipping his head to Cloud’s throat as he panted. Cloud moved as Sephiroth did, tilting his head back without needing to be told. He shifted, parting his legs to allow Sephiroth to slot between them. Sephiroth moved forward, their chests nearly touching. Cloud slid further and further down, guided by the pressure of Sephiroth’s hand on his chest. They adjusted until Sephiroth was draped over him, hanging low like the clouds outside.

               Sephiroth returned to kissing him, and Cloud found he could finally move. He should bite him. He should push him off. He should resume their old fight. Instead, he buried his hands in Sephiroth’s hair and kissed him with more fervor. He could feel the smug smile form on Sephiroth’s lips where they were pressed against his own, feel the rumble of laughter in his chest echoing the thunder outside.

               Sephiroth pulled away, trailing kisses up his jaw to his ear, where he whispered, “Good puppet.”

               Cloud pulled in a shaky breath, something in him trembling at the praise, and opened his mouth (to thank him or tell him to fuck off, he wasn’t sure), but then he was gone.

               Cloud sat up and looked around, his hair tousled and lips kiss-swollen. There was nothing left in the room but the growing puddle of water on the floor.

               Utterly bewildered, Cloud got out of bed and went to the window, pressing it shut. He turned around to look at the room, only for a clap of thunder to ring out behind him, a flash of lightning throwing his silhouette against the far wall. In a breath, his knees gave out, and he was back to square one.

               But it happened again, and again, and again, and Edge was having a rainy summer.

               Time after time, Cloud would retreat to his room to hide from the rain. Time after time, Sephiroth would appear in his room. It always took him time to unfreeze, to unwind, but he would answer on auto-pilot and go pliant beneath Sephiroth’s fingertips. His brain was offline somewhere, leaving his body to reply on instinct, and his instinct was very clear with what it wanted.

               Still, things remained fairly chaste. Sephiroth kept his hands and mouth above the belt, and Cloud never asked for more than he was given. Sometimes Sephiroth would disappear with the rain, other times he’d leave in the middle of it and Cloud would sink back into his trance. Either way, he was left frustrated.

               He was coming to view the rain differently. Instead of mindless anxiety, it was with a mix of trepidation and excitement he would never admit to. He remembered what happened, and part of him was sickened by it. This man was the cause of his fear, yet he couldn’t deny that another part of him liked the interactions they had during the storms. He was a conflicted mess about the entire situation.

               Nothing changed, until it did.

               Sephiroth had him as he usually did: putty in his hands. He coaxed Cloud flat on his back, fitted perfectly between his legs. He kissed him long and hard and deep but always feather-light on his neck, as if afraid to bruise. But this time was different.

               This time, Sephiroth slipped lower.

               His eyes remained on Cloud as he eased himself further and further down his body until he splayed his hand over the bulge in Cloud’s jeans, his face not far from it.

               “I know I leave you frustrated. That was intentional. This will be all the sweeter for it, but first. Do you want this?”

               Cloud blinked slowly, bewildered. He cocked his head to the side. His brain was too fuzzy, moving like molasses. He couldn’t think right.

               “Cloud.” Sephiroth’s voice was like a whipcrack. “Do you want this?”

               He didn’t come out of his strange state. His mind was still cotton-swaddled, but it eased some. He blinked a few times, his brain feeling vaguely reminiscent of clear.

               “Yes,” he said, with absolute certainty in his voice.

               “Good puppet,” Sephiroth praised, watching with hungry eyes as Cloud shivered at the words.

               Whatever he had done to help clear Cloud’s mind faded, and he was eased back into his comfortable fog.

               Sephiroth ran his hand over the line of Cloud’s cock, watching as his hips twitched up in response. Sephiroth undid his pants and pulled them down off his hips with Cloud’s help. He took a moment to pause, taking in the sight of Cloud on his back, still panting slightly, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. He took him in hand and in one quick movement swallowed him down.

               The sound that came out of Cloud’s mouth was broken, but thankfully swallowed by thunder. Anyone outside of the room would have thought it was of pain, of misery, and maybe on some level it was. But Cloud’s head tossed back and he raised his hand to bite his knuckles, forcefully preventing any repeats of the sound. His free hand shot to Sephiroth’s head, tangling in his hair and keeping him where he was. When Sephiroth swallowed around him, he couldn’t help the way his hips bucked up. Sephiroth’s hand came to his hip and pressed down, keeping him in place.

               Sephiroth set a brutal pace, giving pleasure so quickly it nearly became pain. Cloud writhed on the bed. He stared down at Sephiroth, whose eyes never left his face, except when he tossed his head back and groaned into his hand.

               By the end, he was sobbing with pleasure and pulled his hand away to let out a broken, “Sephiroth, _please_.”

               And then Sephiroth swiftly took him to the base, and it was all Cloud could take. It took every ounce of control he had to keep his moan quiet, though he couldn’t fight it back completely. He came harder than he ever had before, and he wasn’t sure how long it took him to come down from that high.

               But when he did, Sephiroth was gone.

               Stranger still, the fog he was in left with him.

               Cloud blinked and sat up, completely aware despite the storm raging outside. He pulled his pants back up and redid them before climbing out of bed to shut the window. He waited, and waited, and eventually there was another clap of thunder. But Cloud didn’t drop to his knees. He didn’t collapse, or hold his head, or do anything more than flinch.

               Cloud peered out the window, into the wall of rain, and nothing happened.

               The next time Cloud saw the sky darken, he was hesitant. He still retreated to his room, still knew he’d go into that damn trance, but things had changed in Sephiroth’s visits with him. Would this be their new norm? If Cloud was unsure of what to do with the situation, he was outright baffled at that thought. During the year he’d chased him, Sephiroth had given Cloud nothing but pain and manipulation. He still remembered the strange joy he’d felt while giving Sephiroth the Black Materia, and wondered if this wasn’t more of the same. Maybe he really was just being played with like a puppet all over again. He thought about this around and around in circles until the first thunder-clap, where his mind went white as snow.

               This time, he hardly noticed when Sephiroth arrived. He didn’t realize what was happening until he caught himself returning Sephiroth’s kiss, and was left wondering when it had even started. He couldn’t be sure with that lost time, but the kiss felt brief. More of a greeting than anything else.

               Sephiroth withdrew, and then guided Cloud to his back with strangely gentle pulls and tugs and nudges. He could have yanked him by the ankle, he could have shoved him down, but his fingers were light against Cloud’s skin. It only served to confuse Cloud more.

               He settled once more between Cloud’s legs, his hands planted on either side of his head, hair hanging around them like a curtain. The familiar smirk came to his lips, but his eyes were soft in a way Cloud had never seen before.

               “Did you enjoy the last storm?” he asked, tone light and conversational.

               Something else hung in the air.

               (Did you enjoy me? Did you enjoy us?)

               If he wasn’t wrapped in a mental fog, he would have answered with something biting. But he was, and that option didn’t even occur to him.

               “Yes,” Cloud answered in a whisper, completely honest.

               The smirk grew into something like a smile. His hand reached down and cupped Cloud through his pants.

               “Then let’s see how you handle more.”

               Cloud wanted to ask what “more” meant, but then Sephiroth started to kiss him, and his mind went comfortably blank.

               He lost himself in that kiss, only half aware of the way Sephiroth was stripping him, his hands still unexpectedly gentle. He moved on autopilot to help, letting Sephiroth guide his shirt and pants and underwear off and into a pile on the floor.

                He only came (somewhat) back to present when Sephiroth pulled away. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Sephiroth undressed with what was apparently a universally learned militaristic quickness and efficiency. There was no show, no goading. There was just Sephiroth watching him as his eyes followed every movement and gesture until Sephiroth was naked above him.

               Sephiroth’s eyes swept away from Cloud’s and down the lines of his body, his hands following the tracking of his eyes soon after. The way he touched was almost reverential, as if Cloud was someone important, someone to be treasured and protected.

               Even in the half-aware state he was in, that was mind-boggling.

               “You gave me a gift, once,” he said, distracted by sweeping his hands over Cloud’s body.

               “I’ve given you a lot of things,” Cloud whispered back.

               “No, I’ve taken a lot of things from you. But you’ve only given me a gift once. Do you know what it was?”

               “I don’t.”

               “It was defeat. No one has ever beaten me, Cloud, no one but you. You gave me an equal. After all I put you through, I couldn’t break you. No matter what I had done, I still couldn’t win. You gave me someone to respect.”

               “I killed you,” Cloud said, confused. “Three times. All I intended on giving you was an ending.”

               “You can’t end me,” Sephiroth said, as if it was simple fact. And maybe it was. “But you can win. I finally know what it is to struggle against someone. What it’s like to have pure ambition, untainted by ego. You gave me a goal. It doesn’t matter what your intention was; this was the result.”

               “It wasn’t a gift.”

               “It was. And now I’ll give you one in return.”

               Sephiroth reached one of his ungloved hands over Cloud’s head, and when he pulled it back, there was an ether in his hands. He popped it open and poured some of it across his fingers before leaning over Cloud again, covering his body with his own. He reached the hand down to Cloud’s entrance, and before Cloud understood what was about to happen, he slipped a finger inside.

               Cloud gasped, the finger cold and slick inside him. Sephiroth waited only a few moments before pressing another finger inside, and this time Cloud squirmed. Cloud didn’t exactly have a wealth of experience in this area. He hadn’t exactly had partners in Shinra or with AVALANCHE, though more than one person was willing to sleep with the Planet’s Hero. Still, senseless flings like that left him uncomfortable. He wanted to know his partners, and know that they were interested in _him_ , not just a title Rufus had given him for something he’d done because there had been no other choice. But he knew Sephiroth, arguably better than he wanted to. And he knew that, if nothing else, Sephiroth was interested in him. He had been since he pushed the then-general into the Nibelheim Reactor.

               He might not have a lot of experience, but it was clear that Sephiroth did. He prepared him expertly, making the time to search out and find the spot inside him that lit the world with sparks. Once he’d found that, Cloud was much more enthusiastic. The room filled with the sounds of him panting and gasping and breathing out Sephiroth’s name like a prayer. Sephiroth may have made the process a little longer than it strictly needed to be, just to keep wringing those sounds out of Cloud.

               He pulled away again, grabbing the ether from where he’d set it on the bedside table and slicked himself before leaning back over Cloud. He kissed him, long and slow, before pulling away. When he spoke, his voice was a low, deep rumble, intimate in a way Cloud had yet to hear from him.

               “Are you ready?”

               “Please, Sephiroth.”

               Sephiroth eased himself inside Cloud slowly, and then waited once he had bottomed out to give him a chance to adjust. He was overly cautious, waited too long, and Cloud, despite his cotton-addled mind, got impatient. He lifted his hips and ground against Sephiroth, who breathed in sharply at the action.

               “ _Please_ move.”

               He needed no more encouragement. Cloud wasn’t exactly sure what to call what they were doing. Having sex felt too clinical, because there was clearly passion of some kind in Sephiroth’s eyes as he stared down at him, watching every movement closely. Fucking was just inaccurate for the way Sephiroth moved; he was gentle, and slow, and sweet in a way Cloud wouldn’t have expected, if he had ever seen this coming. Even foggy as his mind was, something in him balked at calling it love-making, because there could never be anything like that between them, right?

               Sephiroth was oddly tender as this moment that defied words was happening. His hands were light where they brushed Cloud’s skin. His thrusts were deep but not rough. There was no taking in his actions, only copious amounts of giving.

               Yet, oddly enough, as the moved together, Cloud clutching at him desperately and Sephiroth handling him with more care and concern than Cloud thought he was capable of, Cloud’s mind began to clear. The trance, the fog, the cotton lifted and, for the first time, he was truly in this moment with Sephiroth. And suddenly, it was all so _intense_ , like a veil was lifted between them. He felt everything so much deeper than he had before, and it was almost too much for him. He buried his face in Sephiroth neck to hide his moan, because it sounded outright filthy, and anyone who overheard would have a pretty clear idea of what was going on.

               “That’s it,” Sephiroth praised, pressing deep inside him again.

               “Please, Sephiroth, _please_ ,” he begged, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking for.

               “Good, Cloud, very good.”

               It sent a shiver and a gasp through him, to be called by name in that moment and not “puppet.”

               Finally, as if he had been waiting until he was asked, Sephiroth slipped a hand between them and began stroking Cloud’s leaking, neglected cock in time with his thrusts. Cloud tossed his head back, eyes rolling shut, only barely managing to slap a hand over his mouth to cover his moan.

               Gently, Sephiroth tugged his hand away, leaning down to whisper, “Let me hear you.”

               “Godsd _amn_ —it,” he breathed, breath catching and hips bucking.

               Sephiroth struck that bundle of nerves inside him, and Cloud couldn’t help the sound that escaped his lips. He only hoped that Tifa and the kids were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear.

               “That’s it; good, Cloud.”

               A second moan tumbled out of his mouth at the words alone.

               Sephiroth played his body like an instrument he had long since mastered, and though Cloud wished the moment could last forever, he could feel himself getting close. Sephiroth seemed to be close behind, judging by the way his speed picked up.

               Cloud grabbed Sephiroth by the hair and pulled him down to kiss him, and it was like that that he came, gasping into Sephiroth’s mouth and then breathing out a moan that Sephiroth almost pulled out of him, bringing it into his own lungs. He could feel when Sephiroth stilled, gasping Cloud’s name as he came, still buried inside Cloud. Still, it took a long moment for Cloud to come back to his senses.

               He didn’t have to have his eyes open to know what would come.

               “Don’t go,” he breathed, desperate despite the way the sentiment clashed with everything he stood for.

               Yet when he opened his eyes, it was to find Sephiroth gone.

               Cloud looked around, hoping for a moment that he was still somewhere in the room, but he was gone, and after a glance, Cloud saw that he took his ether with him. It was like he had never been there at all.

               Cloud ran both hands through his hair, pulling in and letting out one long, long breath as he did so. Then, ever pragmatic, he moved on to the next step, instead of letting himself sit and sulk in the sudden loss he was feeling with Sephiroth gone. He stood on wobbly legs and went to the bathroom to clean himself up, and after checking, found that Sephiroth hadn’t even left a single bruise to remember the experience by.

               Cloud picked up his clothes off the floor, dressed, and stared out the window until the sun was peeking through again.

               When the next storm came, the excitement outweighed the nervousness. There was a way out of the trance, with Sephiroth, and their last experience together had been nothing but positive. He wasn’t so afraid of the fog settling in, knowing that there would be an outstretched hand to pull him out of it.

               Yet, when he sat on his bed and waited, even after the thunder began to rumble, Cloud didn’t slip out of awareness. There was no movie reel of the highlights of his suffering that played before him. There was no cotton-swaddled feeling surrounding his mind. He was present, and clear, and aware of everything that was happening around him.

               And, as time passed, he was growing painfully aware of the fact that Sephiroth was not there.

               He waited through the whole storm, until the sky cleared entirely, but he never came.

               Cloud knew he had been given a gift. The rain would no longer be a problem. Sephiroth had overwritten all of the negative associations he had with the weather and let him with very, very pleasant memories in their stead.

               It was a gift, but Cloud found himself resenting it.

               He would have preferred having Sephiroth and the suffering to being left with nothing but memories.


End file.
